Stairs
by partiallyyours
Summary: A one-shot of how I wish looking for a property would go.


As he walked from the second floor to the first, he made a mental note that the stairs were badly in need of repair.

"It would certainly be a job of fixing it up if we chose this one," he remarked from the bottom of

the stairs, turning to look up at her as she walked down toward him.

She glanced behind her to the second floor as she answered,

"It certainly would, but those bedrooms are uncommonly nice." Her tone conveyed the difficulty they would have in making their decision.

When she was three steps above him, the lip of the stair on which she had landed broke off under the ball of her foot. It sent her pitching forward. Reflexively, he dropped his hat on the dusty floor to reach for her.

The heel of her hand landed so forcefully on his shoulder that it skimmed off the top, making her lose the brief purchase it held there. Her arm flew past his shoulder to hang uselessly in the air. Losing her handhold had the added effect of making her chest slam into his. The force of it made him sway backwards for only a fraction of a second. His bulk and dexterity made their chance of falling a very slim one. In an effort to keep her on her feet, he shot his hand under her arm.

The only thing that kept their foreheads from colliding were his quick reflexes. As she came into full contact with his chest, he snapped his head back. Her other hand managed to land firmly on his chest. Swiftly, and probably too tightly for comfort, he grasped her waist with his free hand. At precisely the same moment that her hand had slammed into his shoulder, her knee struck his thigh with bruising momentum, making him wince in pain. But it had all happened in the span of two seconds. And thanks to his chivalrous and lightning-fast intervention, they were both upright and on their feet.

As they both realized that the danger was over, one of his hands was still at her waist and the other remained underneath her arm, forcing her arm up in an awkward position around his neck. Her other forearm rested heavily on his chest as she leaned into him.

When she brought her gaze from the offending step to his face, she saw that they were exactly level. She thought crazily that the combination of her modest heels and one step was the difference in their heights. She would have laughed but for the nearness of his face to hers. She had probably been this close to him before. Hadn't she? Yes, of course, she must have been.

But she couldn't quite seem to make herself remember when.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

His voice was different. Her mind insisted that she notice even as she mentally tried to wave the thought away.

"Yes." She paused, trying to put a name to the discomfort she felt. "Thank you for catching me. Are you hurt?"

"Not at all," he murmured, not even aware that he lied. Her nearness seemed to make the throbbing ache in his bruised thigh disappear entirely.

He stared at her, so close to him now. Of a sudden, he noticed that her skin was beautiful. Fair, smooth, and with smile lines at the corners of her eyes. His hand under her arm twitched as he fought the insane urge to touch her face. He'd always thought she was beautiful. The idea was ever present in the back of his mind, not bothering him, just...there. In fact, it had occurred to him just the other day that she seemed to grow more beautiful as the years went by.

"Mr. Carson?"

A few moments of silence answered her soft question.

"Yes?" he finally answered.

His voice. She couldn't have explained why she began to panic at the unusual timbre that seemed to ooze strength and softness at once.

"Your hat," she offered weakly, still locked in his gaze and his embrace.

"Mmm," he answered noncommittally.

"It's on the floor." Her breath came shallow and fast.

"Mm-hmm," he agreed, not even sparing the article a glance.

He was pleased. He could see that he'd flustered her. He liked it. He liked the implication that she cared enough about him to _be _flustered by him. He liked the way he could feel her chest next to his with its rapid movements from her quick breaths.

For weeks, he'd been trying to find a way to tell her that he didn't want to be without her. That the thought of parting when they retired sent him into a panic. That he wanted to retire _with _her. That they were looking for a house not only to let, but to, one day, share. This opportunity to tell her in another way was heaven sent. Organized to fall precisely in his lap to spare him an uncomfortable conversation. Decisively, he resolved to take full advantage of it.

Slowly, he leaned toward her. Her eyes widened but she didn't pull away. At the first touch of his soft, warm lips against hers, her eyelids quivered to a close. He saw this and fought the inappropriate compulsion to smile against her lips in triumph. The hand at her waist moved deliberately to the small of her back. When he pressed her body against his, it mirrored the firmer pressure of their lips against one another's.

When the hand that had awkwardly been under her arm moved to join his other hand at her back, she let out a high hum and moved her hands to his shoulders.

When she clenched her fingers into his shoulders, he inhaled gratefully, moving his hands to span her waist. He lifted her to her tiptoes and then set her gently back down, never releasing her lips. And then he was convincing her, telling her with his lips how he wanted her, telling her to accept him, telling her that all would be well. He let her feel the tension in his body, knowing she would understand that, soon, he would have much more from her than this kiss, this moment. With fingers pressing and releasing, he let her know how long he'd been waiting for this, how she would belong to him and he to her.

With sliding lips, he convinced her to open her mouth to him. With his tongue against hers, he convinced her to (finally, finally) wrap her arms around him. When he wanted to hear her sigh and hum, he moved his mouth away from hers to explore her neck. She didn't disappoint him. She gasped, moaned, and whimpered in response to his roving lips.

She didn't know what to do with her hands. It was a near frantic feeling, this desire to touch him everywhere at once. Irrationally, she feared that he would be gone if she opened her eyes. She tried to push away a burning need to feel all of him right then and there in case she never had the chance again. His hair felt stiff from his pomade before it gave way against her shaking fingers as they snaked their way up the back of his head. He was still nipping at her neck, making her tremble. She wanted him to kiss her lips again, but speech was impossible. So she placed her thumbs at his temples and pulled his head back. He looked up at her with questioning, lust-filled eyes. In answer, she bent her head and kissed him.

He straightened quickly, responding with fervor to the proof that she had accepted him. He held her face in one great hand while he allowed the other to roam. From the firm, inflexible plane of her corset, his hand travelled lower to the soft, yielding flesh of her hip and thigh beneath her dress. When he began to wonder if she would allow him to lift the hem of her skirt, a semblance of sense returned to him and he set her away from him.

She took in a few harsh breaths before she was able to breathe normally again. He still had a hold of her. Not at her waist, but higher on her sides. It was more intimate somehow. Were she not wearing her corset, his thumbs would have brushed against the underside of her breasts.

The thought made her exhale sharply.

With his eyes and his tone of voice, he tried to convey that he didn't _want _to leave as he said,

"We should go. The estate agent will be looking for us soon."

Dazed, she nodded. To her credit, she efficiently began to check her hair and coat even while in a dumbfounded state.

He simply watched her try to put herself back together, remembering the way her hands had felt when they were clutching him.

She glanced at him and said seriously,

"Your hair."

He lifted his head and smiled ruefully, acknowledging the state he must have been in.

"Will you?" he asked.

Aware that he could not repair the damage she'd done without a mirror, she reached to him and tried to smooth down his now unruly hair. Just smoothing her fingers over the steel gray locks did no good. She tried using her nails to comb roughly through it in an attempt to tame it. Though it was unsuccessful, his groan as she dragged her fingernails across his scalp made the endeavor worthwhile. She bit back a smile and had to pause her movements to stop herself from kissing him again. Finally, she licked her thumb and pressed firmly down on the most obviously askew bits. He smiled at that and tried to catch her gaze, but her concentration was too great.

"Come on," he insisted gently, taking her hand to tuck it into the crook of his arm.

They walked out together to the front garden where the estate agent idly plucked a weed here and there. He smiled as he saw the pair exit the house.

"Well, what do you think of it?" he asked jovially.

"It does need quite a bit of work," replied Mr. Carson, the only one of the two of them able to speak at the moment. "We'll have to discuss it, of course."

"Of course," the agent replied. "And how did you find it, Mrs. Hughes?"

Startled, she answered, "Yes, lovely."

The agent threw a confused look at Mr. Carson. The house was anything but lovely. It was a fixer-upper, clearly and honestly advertised. But Mr. Carson simply looked back at the man, offering no explanation for his companion's odd statement.

They parted from the agent and made their way back to Downton.

He'd been all confidence and firm hands and decisive thoughts when they were together on those stairs. But now, with her protracted silence, he began to wonder if he'd gone insane. This was not his way. He'd all but forced himself on her. But no, that wasn't entirely right. She'd responded to him in kind. His fear subsided a bit when he remembered her hands on his head, tilting it back so that she could kiss him.

They were sheltered by the colorful fall leaves on the path back to the abbey. He placed a hand over hers where it rested in the crook of his arm.

"You've not said anything," he said, concern and patience lacing the words.

She stopped abruptly. As he turned to stand in front of her, he reached to hold the hand that had been at his elbow.

He might have been alarmed at the unshed tears that made her eyes glisten. But she beamed up at him. The walk had been enough time for her to gather her thoughts. She understood, or rather she was almost certain she understood what he had offered her. She needed only to hear it confirmed and she would be able to give him back everything he'd just given her. She reached a hand up to his hair and ruffled her fingers through it briefly before asking,

"What would you like to hear me say?"

He sighed and smiled. It was a grave, serious smile. He wanted her to know that he didn't take any part of their day lightly. That he wasn't sorry. That he didn't regret a single thing he'd done.

"Say you're not angry with me. Say that you love the way I kiss you. Say that you never wanted me to stop. Say that you wouldn't have been able to stand without burying your nails in my shoulders. Say that you'll never leave me. Say that you were surprised. Say that no one has ever loved you the way that I do. Say that, one day, you are certain you will love me, too."

A sob escaped her before she reached for him. He wrapped her up in his arms. Her tears spilled over then and she held tightly to him. When she was able to find her voice, she whispered into his ear,

"I love you, too."

He dropped his head to her shoulder in gratitude.

"Or that. That's good, too," he whispered.

She laughed with the tears still fresh on her cheeks.


End file.
